


flight over

by zyan



Category: Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Love, M/M, Video Cameras, just guys being dudes doing bro things in Seattle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 20:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zyan/pseuds/zyan
Summary: Zayn visits Harry in Seattle for his birthday, falling in love with every click of his camera.





	1. Seeing him:)

7:08 A.M.

_Click. Whizz. Whir._

Camera shot: clouds, airplane wing, sunrise. _Whizz_ – automatic zoom.

Zayn turns the camera to himself, the frame view only showing from the top of his lip to the middle of his chest. The little light there is from the sun rising reflects on his skin, gleaming soft yellows and pinks reflected back to the camera. His thin golden necklaces shine against his collarbone. He’s wearing a shirt that doesn’t belong to him, the top three buttons undone. _Shift_.

The camera captures his eyes, bright under the sun. He smiles, close lipped.

 _Click_.

9:40 A.M.

 _Click_.

Zayn re-positions the camera on the makeshift stand of books. He has to bend down for the camera to catch him fully, but it’s okay. It’ll do. He kneels.

“Okay,” he says to the lens. It whirrs in response, zooming accordingly. “I’ve set it up for his birthday… if you can see – “

Zayn checks behind the camera to make sure his decorations are in view – nineteen pink balloons hovering against the ceiling of his hotel room, carefully avoiding all the light fixtures. A box of cookies sitting on the vanity. A box of red chocolates, sat near the edge of the bed.

“Alright,” he says to himself, putting himself back in view. He gives the camera a thumbs-up. “Cool.”

Zayn backs up, then comes close again. “Two more hours to wait. Uh, this is what I got him…”

He removes a DVD case from his backpack lodged in the corner of the room. He comes back to the camera, putting the case in view.

“Made him a playlist,” Zayn says quietly, apprehensively. In sharpie, the words ‘ _for my love – Z_ ’ scribbled on it. _Whizz_. “Hope he likes it.”

Then, Zayn sticks his tongue out for the camera.

 _Click_.

 

11:43 A.M.

Same camera view. It’s positioned where the door is visible. Zayn’s body is visible leaning against the vanity. He’s wringing his hands, pulling at the sweater he’s got on. He’s fixed his hair twice, then twice again. He clears his throat with his phone in his hand when the door unlocks.

Only a second passes.

Only a second, for the camera, when Harry swings the door open, his bags in his hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. He sees Zayn, another second passes, and they’re in each other’s arms.

It’s muffled laughter and silent happy sighs that the audio can pick up, from where it’s positioned. Harry’s bags are sitting, dropped, forgotten at the door.

“My heart is beating so fast,” Harry laughs silently, into Zayn’s neck. Zayn laughs back. The camera _whirrs_ and _clicks_. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you so much more,” Zayn manages back.

 _Click_.

 

11:58 A.M.

 _Click_.

Zayn big, warm smile is in frame. He turns the camera to Harry, who’s lying on the bed with his head hanging off the edge. His hair is a mess over his face. Zayn zooms in close to him; Harry squawks and swats the camera away.

“Stop! Zayn,” he complains, smiling, dissolving into laughter, and sitting up on the bed. “I look a mess.”

“You do?” Zayn asks. Harry covers his face in both of his hands. Zayn laughs and ruffles Harry’s hair. The camera zooms into Harry’s hands, and when he removes them from his face, his scrunched up nose and dimpled cheeks are in view.

“Oh my god!” He laughs. “Stop it, get out of here.”

 The camera’s zoomed in so much it captures just his smile. Harry falls back onto the bed and hides half his face into a pillow. Zayn lays in front of him, mirroring his pose, the camera in the middle of both of them.

“Look at you,” Zayn says, watching him through the camera. “So photogenic.”

Harry laughs, half his smile hidden in the pillow. His hair is still halfway over his eyes, one eye glinting at Zayn. He looks like a model laying like this. He looks like a painting, intentionally painted to be peaceful and happy.

“Say goodbye,” Zayn says.

Harry winks, blows a kiss, then laughs.

 _Click_.

 

 

*

 

 

They have sex that night. More than once, as if Zayn were to leave the day after and they couldn’t help themselves. Harry couldn’t stop touching Zayn, and Zayn, him. The camera didn’t get any of it, not until Harry was fast asleep, his face tucked into Zayn’s neck.

 

12:13 A.M.

 _Click_.

The camera view is grainy in the dark. Zayn holds it above himself; it shows him, with Harry curled next to him, a blanket covering them both. Zayn doesn’t know why he’s recording.

He brings the camera lower, to view Harry’s sleeping face. His nose against Zayn’s cheek. Zayn smiles, the camera catches it perfectly.

 _Click_.


	2. A date date

_Click. Whir. Whir. Whizz._

 

11:21 A.M.

It’s bright outside; the camera has to adjust.

“ – isn’t what he called it,” Harry’s saying. When the camera picks up, it’s half of Zayn in view. Harry’s sitting next to him, wearing a soft blue top. The top three buttons are unbuttoned, he’s wearing Zayn’s necklaces and rings. His hair is pulled up in a bun. He holds up a peace sign, then swirls around his iced coffee.

“Not a picture?”

“Nah,” Zayn smirks. “Tell ‘em what we’re doing.”

“Just out for breakfast,” Harry smiles. He moves closer to Zayn. They’re both in view, shoulder against shoulder. Zayn’s wearing a black sweater, loose and and torn and stretched out around the collar. His tattoos are visible.

“I got a frap,” Harry explains. “No, iced coffee. Zayn got a frap.”

“Harry made me.”

Harry scoffs. “I did not. Zayn wanted to try it – he’s just – you’re just too manly to admit, huh?”

“Me, manly? Not quite,” Zayn murmurs.

Harry looks up at Zayn, Zayn moves the camera to his face. His wide, green eyes dilate, crow’s feet wrinkle up as he smiles.

“You’re so close, Zayn. Move back a bit.”

“I’m not good with this thing,” Zayn replies, backing up. The camera gets Harry’s full face and neck in view. Harry tucks flyaway strands behind his ear, looking beautiful under the light. Zayn thinks of saying so.

“You’re fine with it, it’s just a shitty camera.”

Zayn laughs, flipping Harry off. Harry smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to Zayn’s jaw. Only his neck is in view. The camera whirrs to correct its zoom, as if it could pick up the kisses Zayn left there the night before.

It doesn’t. Harry leans back and flashes the camera a smile.

 

 _Click_.

2:03 P.M.

They’re in Seattle, so of course they go out.  Harry proposes a museum and they do exactly that.

They walk to the Seattle Art Museum on First Avenue, then take a bus to the Asian Art Museum on East Prospect. Zayn takes photos of Harry with his head rested against the glass windows, arms and legs crossed. He pushes some hair behind his ears.

“Poser,” Zayn tells him.

“What?” Harry feigns innocence.

“You know I’m taking pictures. ‘s why you’re sitting pretty.”

Harry laughs gently, rolling his eyes and gazing through the window. He tilts his chin up and points his toe.

“I’ve got not idea what you’re on about. Take another.”

_Click click click._

 

After the museum, they eat at ice cream and keep walking around the city, crossing streets and stumbling in each other’s way. Harry’s hand finds its way to Zayn’s, but he never holds it. He just drags his finger across Zayn’s palms, his knuckles, wrists, teasing and playful.

Zayn takes photos of Harry wherever he pleases, whenever he stops and acts like he isn’t posing but really is, just so Zayn has an excuse good enough to get his camera out.

Then they walk again.

  


*

  


8:09 P.M.

They stop at a small restaurant neighboring their hotel, lit up with strung christmas lights. They sit outside at the table closest to the water.

 _Click_.

Zayn faces the camera to the lake. It zooms, whirrs and clicks when the scene is in focus. The view is the water, the moonlight softly reflecting onto the water. It doesn’t get Zayn and Harry on the other side, eating from each others plates, laughing, and whispering to one another how much they love each other, hushed for only them to hear.

When Harry reaches for Zayn’s hand and kisses his rings, telling him how much he’d love to marry him someday, Zayn just figures he’ll overlay the audio with a song.

 

11:00 P.M.

“Can we go to the water?” Harry asks, once they’ve gotten up from their table.

“Yeah, sure.”

They go to Lake Union, because that’s the only one Harry said he wanted to go to. They walk closer and closer as the moon rises, when less people can see their fingers tangling. They’re hand in hand by the time they get to the lake at 12:00.

Harry doesn’t say anything, he just tugs his shoes off and rolls up the cuffs of his pants. Zayn pulls his camera out when Harry looks back and waves him on.

_Click. Click click click._

“Wait,” Zayn calls. Harry’s shin deep into the war, wading in circles. “Come here.”

“Aw, baby,” Harry smiles, making his way to Zayn with open arms. “You scared of the water?”

“I just wanna take a picture with you,” Zayn answers, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist. Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, leaning his chin against Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn holds the camera up a little higher.

“Ready?” he asks. “Smile, alright?”

“Okay.”

Zayn counts to three; he smiles at three, Harry presses a kiss to his cheek.

 

2:09 A.M.

Harry’s wrapped up in Zayn’s lap, headphone cords and blanket sheets tangled in with the both of them. They’re watching something on Netflix, the computer sitting at their feet. Zayn goes through the photos on his camera, over and over again, until his thumb aches.

“I love you,” Zayn says, moments after.

“Mm?” Harry answers, waking up from dozing off.

Zayn bites down on his lip. “You heard what I said?”

“No,” Harry stretches, cupping the back of Zayn’s neck and kissing him softly. “‘m sorry. What?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says. He feels warm all over. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry’s already asleep.


	3. Harrys birthday!

9:03 A.M.

 _Click_.

“Good morning,” Zayn says, more so to the camera than anyone else. He’s lying on his back beside Harry, who’s still asleep with his hair strewn everywhere. _He’s endearing_ , Zayn thinks. “Happy February first,” he says.

Zayn doesn’t bother to wake him. Instead, he films himself getting ready. He fishes his mixtape out of his bag and four wilting roses from underneath the bed. He orders breakfast for them both, croissants and fruits and oats enough for them to share. The camera catches it all. Harry stays asleep.

Zayn waits, patiently, for Harry to wake. He hums to one of the songs he’s chosen on the playlist, he changes his shirt twice before just wearing a sweater he found in Harry’s bag. Zayn records Harry’s peaceful face, zooming in on his nose, his forehead, his lips. He drags a hand through Harry’s mess of hair, kissing his head.

Zayn turns the camera to him, his face in view. He gives the camera a thumbs-up, then crossing his fingers. He moves the camera to their window, figuring he could insert clips of nature into the video while he waits.

And, patiently, he does.

 

10:07 A.M.

“Mmph,” Harry says.

Zayn grabs the camera and makes his way to the bed, hoisting himself up and sitting on top of Harry.

“Happyhappyhappybirthday,” Zayn says, zooming into Harry’s face. Harry yawns with a smile, then covers his face and turns into the pillow.

“I just woke up, Zayn,” he whines.

“You’re beautiful. C’mon.”

Harry stretches, then yawns again, and hides his face into the blanket. “Give me two seconds.”

Zayn agrees not to record Harry until he gets out of the bathroom, which he does few minutes later.  Zayn waits outside the bathroom door with his camera in hand.

“Hi,” Harry says, a helpless smile tugging at his lips, when he opens the door. He looks comfortable and charmful, wearing Zayn’s sweater and sweats hanging low on his hips.

“Happy birthday,” Zayn repeats. Harry laughs. Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and kisses his open mouth, bringing the camera up to film it. _Whirr_.

“Thank you,” Harry manages back, kissing Zayn sweetly. He breaks into a smile as they kiss. “It really is my birthday, huh?”

Zayn laughs, bumping his nose against Harry’s.

“Come sit,” he says, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s and dragging him back to bed. Harry obediently sits.

“Should I close my eyes?” Harry asks. Zayn positions the camera so that it frames the both of them, more of Harry than anything else.

“No, you don’t have to. Sit still.”

“Okay,” Harry smiles even wider.

“I mean, first - ” Zayn says, picking up the assortment of their breakfast he left on the center table. “I got us breakfast in bed.”

Harry snorts, popping a grape in his mouth. “That’s sweet, thank you. Come eat with me.”

“Just a second,” Zayn says, wringing his hands, standing in front of Harry. Harry curiously tilts his head, watching Zayn watch him.

“Okay,” Zayn says definitively, clapping his hands together once. “Alright.”

Harry chuckles when Zayn goes behind the bed, and laughing even louder when Zayn brings the roses and CD case to him.

“Zayn! This is so cute, what the fuck?” Harry laughs, opening his hands to accept the gift.

“Flowers,” Zayn says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple.

“Thank you,” he says, blushing. He smells them.

“They’re - they’re dying, they kind of don’t have a smell…” Zayn says. Harry just laughs again.

“You’re so cute, Zayn. Thank you.”

“Mhm. And this too,” Zayn says, handing him the case.

“A movie?” Harry asks, his eyebrows raised. Zayn shakes his head. Harry opens up the case, reading the words written on the DVD.

“Oh, baby,” Harry says. “Zayn. You’re so… you made me a song? This is so - ”

“Look at the back,” Zayn interrupts. “Take it out.”

Harry takes the CD out, a piece of paper falling out from behind it. The paper listed all the songs titles and meanings to each that Zayn had written.

“A playlist,” Harry said, looking up at Zayn and frowning. “This is so thoughtful, Zayn, thank you. Come here.”

Zayn laughs lightly, wrapping himself in Harry’s open arms. He kisses Harry over and over, Harry smiles and kisses him back.

“I love you,” Zayn says, his heart in his throat.

Harry chokes up then. “I love you too. So much.”

“Aw, baby,” Zayn murmurs, his turn to mock him. “Don’t cry.”

Harry half laughs and half sobs, wiping at his face. “You’re so nice to me.”

Zayn smiles against Harry’s neck, kissing and biting it. He kisses Harry’s ear, then, his cheek, then his hands. “Don’t cry, Harry. Please.”

“I love you,” Harry says, sniffling.

“I love you,” Zayn sighs out. It’s easier now; he wonders if the camera can pick up how much easier it is to say it now. How smoothly it comes out.

Harry wipes at his cheeks, lifting the CD. “Can we listen?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course we can.”

They do.

 _Click_.

 

12:43 P.M.

 _Click_.

Zayn’s leaning against the headboard of their bed, asleep. Harry’s laying beside him, chin hooked on his shoulder and hands in Zayn’s lap. The playlist is still playing, Zayn’s voice softly serenading through the speakers of Harry’s computer.

Harry smiles at the camera, zooming into Zayn’s face, his lips, then back to Harry’s smile.

 _Miss you already_ he mouths to the camera. _Mwah_.

 _Click_.

 

*

 

2:10 P.M.

They don’t do anything for the rest of the day. Harry brought an outfit specifically for tonight, he said, but he doesn’t want to get out of bed anymore.

“You can still wear it,” Zayn says, tugging his sweater off over his head. “I can take pictures of you in your pretty clothes.”

Harry blushes, sat on the edge of the bed, watching Zayn undress.

“No, you… I don’t want it in your video.”

Zayn glances in Harry’s direction, just to see him. “I won’t put it in the video, then.”

“Just for you?” Harry asks.

“Just for me,” Zayn answers, walking over to Harry, standing in front of him. He gently drags his hands through Harry’s hair. Harry’s eyes fall.

“I don’t want you to post them, I mean,” he clarifies, letting his hands sit on Zayn’s hips.

“I won’t post them. I’ll keep them for my sanity on the way back home.”

Harry opens his eyes, bright and mischievous. “ _Those_ kinds of pictures?”

Zayn laughs, biting at Harry’s neck until he pushes him away.

“No, shut up. I wasn’t thinking that. Just any pictures. Jesus, what’d you bring, lingerie?”

Harry squawks a laugh, hiding his smile. “No! It’s just - it’s a button up. It’s silk and… white and soft. I really liked it.”

“Okay,” Zayn sits beside Harry, pulling his hand away and kissing his smile. “Then I’ll take pictures of you in your silk button up and save them just for my flight back home.”

 

*

 

7:40 P.M.

 _Click_.

“We ordered take-out,” Zayn tells the camera, recording his plate of Thai food and Harry’s plate of pizza and sushi. “Harry’s gonna get a stomach ache.”

“‘Cause it’s my birthday,” Harry tells the camera, emptying out his soy sauce packets into a bowl. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You’ll puke.”

“I won’t,” Harry tries not to smile, but fails. He shakes his head at the camera, determined. “I won’t.”

Zayn hums a reply, taking a bite of his food and reaching to turn his camera off.

“Have you tried them together before, Zayn? It’s actually - ”

 

 _Click_.

 

9:34 P.M.

The camera quality is still just as grainy at night.

Their blinds are shut, the only light source coming from their phones and the flash on the camera. Harry’s wearing his silk shirt, the top two buttons undone, one of Zayn’s necklaces draped against his collarbone. His unruly hair is tucked behind his ears and partially covering his face.

He smiles for the first picture, his mouth hidden behind a wilting rose. His dimples are visible, his eyes closed.

_Click click click._

Harry suggests laying on the bed like a painting for the next one, but Zayn makes him laugh, so he just falls into the bed hiding his smile into the sheets, flowers held to his chest.

 _Click click click_.

The last one, Harry isn’t even paying attention. He’s sat up with one leg hanging off the bed and the other raised next to him, his chin leaning against his knee. He’s talking about something, something Zayn can’t remember, with the flowers sitting by his bare thigh.

Zayn doesn’t tell him they don’t have a scent again, he just presses the shutter button.

 _Click click click_. Just like a painting.

 

12:45 A.M.

They have sex again, of course, in celebration of Harry’s birthday; all slow hands and kisses, sweet moans and huffs laced with laughter, as if they had the rest of their life.

Zayn completely enamored of him, so much it hurts. He could stay here forever.


	4. watersports

_Click_.

 

2:33 P.M.

They’re in Pioneer Square. Harry’s facetiming his mom. Zayn's chewing gummy bears.

“Think we’ll go to The Bistro,” Zayn tells the camera, holding it higher and spinning, so it catches the view of the trees and park behind him.

The sun is out, enough to warm Zayn’s cheeks, even though it’s freezing. Harry’s wearing a fleece sweater, Zayn wearing a wool turtleneck. Zayn puts the camera to Harry, sitting at a bench with his phone raised to his face.

“There’s my boy,” Zayn says. Harry’s too concentrated in whatever his mom is saying to pay him any mind. Zayn takes a photo of him when Harry wrinkles up his nose and laughs.

 _Click click click_.

 

They do go to The Bistro afterwards. They take photos of their plates for Instagram, and one of Zayn and his plate for Harry’s Twitter. Zayn sends the plates to his mom as proof of actually eating on his trip.

‘Ohhhhh!! Looks great :)’ she sends back.

They take more photos around Waterfall Garden Park. Pictures of Harry standing front of the waterfall, pictures of their hands reaching out to touch it. Harry asks to take a picture of just Zayn, to save for himself when he gets home.

 _Click_.

 

*

 

“You’re _fucking_ infuriating.”

If Zayn thought there wouldn’t be any arguments on his trip, he’d have been wrong. Still, he thought exactly that, and was proved wrong.

“Harry,” Zayn chides gently. “You don’t mean that.”

Part of Zayn says to get the camera out, record their argument so he can watch it later and see exactly where he went wrong - exactly where Harry’s mood took a complete 180, exactly where the tone _shifts_.

But, Zayn doesn’t. He just watches Harry argue with no one but himself because Zayn won’t engage in fighting with him.

“You don’t have shit to say now? You don’t care anymore?” Harry sneers, marching up to Zayn’s face. “You don’t want to fucking say anything?”

Zayn just looks at Harry, silently and carefully picking his words. He crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“I’m not going to argue with you,” he decides.

“ _Oh_ , okay, yeah. That proves your point. Most definitely. You know I’ve - ”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Zayn starts, raising his voice over Harry’s, “to change the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Harry blinks, caught in his words. He catches up with himself seconds later.

“Why the fuck are you changing the topic?”

“I’m not. You’re thinking about me leaving tomorrow, ‘cause you… you don’t want me to go. And you’ve been irritated all day.”

Harry rolls his eyes and waves a dismissive hand in Zayn’s direction; Zayn reaches for that hand and pulls Harry closer with it.

“No,” Harry argues, pushing Zayn off. “Leave me alone. Don’t touch me.”

“Harry, can we please just enjoy this? Us?” Zayn asks, reaching out for Harry again, smoothing out his hair, his shirt, running a hand down his arm. “Everything’s pissing you off right now. You just want to argue to argue. There’s _nothing_ wrong. Calm down. Please.”

Harry ignores him, turning his head when Zayn reaches to kiss him. Zayn knows he should, so he lets him go. Harry leaves, slamming the door behind him when he storms out.

 

*

 

8:14 P.M.

 _Click_.

Zayn gives it an hour. He sits on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed, the camera sat on the dresser across from him. It has the entire view: the frame of the bed, Zayn sitting on the edge, the mess of clothes on the floor, the painting on the side of the wall. The camera whirrs in the silence. It beeps twice, the red light glowing in the darkening room. Zayn just looks at it.

 

9:14 P.M.

The door opens. Harry silently comes in, taking off his sweater and shoes. He sits by Zayn on the bed, dropping his head against Zayn’s shoulder. He reaches for Zayn’s hand. Just to hold it.

Zayn wonders if his soft smile is in view.

 

 _Click_.

 

The camera dies.


	5. Last day.

Zayn’s brain knows it’s his last day with Harry. It feels like the rest of his body does too; he spends longer touching him, holding him, and kissing his hair. He doesn’t want to get out of bed when he wakes and neither does Harry, so they don’t. They just stay by one another's side, breathing each other in.

 

1:08 P.M.

 _Click_.

It’s a useless clip. Zayn just wants to record them kissing.

They’re sitting on the floor, facing one another. Zayn smiles, then Harry smiles and laughs softly. They look a mess. Zayn might just keep it, he doesn’t know. He might not put it in the video. Harry drags a finger along Zayn’s arm, teasing. He scoots closer.

Zayn might just keep it for himself.

He leans forward to kiss Harry, softly. Harry barely moves when he kisses back; his lips stay parted and his eyes on Zayn. Zayn leans in again to bite Harry’s lip. Harry wraps a warm hand around Zayn’s wrist.

He might just keep it for himself.

“You should turn the camera off,” Harry suggests, his nose against Zayn’s face, pressing hot kisses to his cheek, dragging to his neck. “You should turn it off.”

Zayn does.

 

 _Click_.

 


	6. last last day

Zayn’s flight is first. Harry suggests they ride to the airport together.

The same backpack Zayn brought is packed, bearing the same things it had when he left home. He’s wearing Harry’s soft blue button up, the top three buttons undone. Harry’s jewelry. Harry’s cologne.

Harry is wearing Zayn’s black sweater - the one with the loose collar and holes. Zayn’s jewelry. Zayn’s cologne. He brings a rose with him, even though it’s dead, pressing his thumb to the thorns in their Uber ride to the airport. Harry asks the driver to wait when they arrive to the drop-off, clamoring out the car with Zayn.

He doesn’t say anything yet. Not until they reach the doors, so Zayn says something first.

“Alright,” he sighs, looking at Harry. Harry looks back at him, his eyes glazed over, worrying at his bottom lip. Zayn’s heart fucking aches.

“Hey,” Zayn utters, cupping Harry’s jaw in his hand. He smiles helplessly. “Hey, Harry. I’m right here.”

Harry reaches to hug Zayn, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn wraps his around around Harry’s waist. Harry hides his face in Zayn’s neck, his tears wetting his skin and shirt, but Zayn doesn’t care. He’s just trying not to cry.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” Harry mumbles. Zayn rubs circles on Harry’s back.

“I’ll see you again,” he says. He takes a second to breathe. “You know I will. I keep coming back.”

“I don’t want you to keep… to keep leaving.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says silently. He doesn’t either. He tucks some of Harry’s hair behind his ear. He swallows over the stone in his throat. “I love you.”

Harry’s tears keep falling; he nods, unable to say it back. Zayn just holds him tighter.

“Harry,” he laughs sadly, speaking into Harry’s hair. “Please, you’re - I’ll come back. Please stop crying. It hurts seeing you like this.”

“‘m sorry, I know, I know,” Harry manages, backing up and wiping at his cheeks. He blinks over and over, trying to clear his glossy eyes. He holds Zayn’s face with damp hands. “I love you too. A lot.”

Zayn kisses him, only thinking for a second about the people around them. Harry kisses him like he isn’t thinking about them at all.

They part when Zayn finally takes a step back, his finger curled into Harry’s. They untangle. Harry watches Zayn, his eyes and cheeks reddened, a sad smile stuck on his face.

“Thanks for visiting,” Harry laughs out, his voice thick and blue. “For my birthday, you know.”

“Sure, baby,” Zayn says. He steps back once more. “Until next time?”

“Yeah,” Harry brings the rose up to his nose, smiling behind it. “Until next time.”  


*  


9:08 A.M.

_Click. Whizz. Whir._

Camera shot: clouds, airplane wing, sunrise. _Whizz_.

Zayn turns the camera to himself, the frame view only showing from the top of his lip to the middle of his chest. The little light there is from the sun rising reflects on his skin, gleaming soft yellows and pinks reflected back to the camera. His thin golden necklaces shine against his collarbone. He’s wearing a shirt that doesn’t belong to him, the top three buttons undone. _Shift_.

The camera captures his eyes, bright under the sun. He smiles, close lipped.

 _Click_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) lol so what'd you think!


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